


Lick The Bowl

by softbiker



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softbiker/pseuds/softbiker
Summary: Bucky Barnes has a sweet tooth.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 138





	Lick The Bowl

Post-mission, post-debrief, post-shower.

Pre-dinner, pre-Netflix binge, pre- _dessert._

Bucky swipes at the fogged mirror with a towel, leaving streaks that slightly reveal his own damp skin and dripping hair. A harsh breath blows past his lips as he examines the planes of his own skin, leaning forward into the mirror. His whiskers have grown out over the last few days, unable to shave due to forgetting his razor, and he refused to share with Natasha’s legs, in spite of her insistence that she wouldn’t mind. There’s a nice shiner blooming under his right eye, bright purple-red on his cheekbone - lucky swing of some thug’s fist. Didn’t land a second hit, though.

Towel around his waist, not yet dressed, the drops from the tips of his hair drip down his shoulders as he continues to frown at his reflection, fingers rubbing absently at the scratchy new growth on his cheeks. Should he shave? Eyelids already growing a little heavy, breath slow - he doesn’t want to. He wants to slip on his pajamas and go find her in the kitchen; he knows she’s there, he can smell the pressed garlic and hear the light pad of her toes as she shuffles around, swaying to her music. The corner of his mouth twitches just a little, and he reaches down, digging in the second drawer for his shaving cream. He’ll go ahead. She’ll like it.

The cold lather on his skin and the scrape of the razor wakes him up just a little; the fog on the mirror slowly fading and his hair drying in soft waves that he curls behind his ears. Lips pursed as he turns, examining his profile, whistling a soft tune - something jazzy and familiar, more muscle memory than anything. The back of his mind buzzes with swing music and cigarettes, another lifetime, another man. A man he sees reflected back in the glass, right before his eyes, as he pats down his now-smooth cheeks with a towel, soft skin flushed a little with the cold water and the friction of cotton. He gives himself a slow nod in the mirror, rolling his shoulders, and takes a slow breath.

Rubbing his hands together, his whistling turned to a low hum in his throat, he shuffles out to the chest of drawers for his boxers and pajama pants; her music comes drifting through the doorway, something poppy with a good beat, the singer’s smooth voice weaving up and down through the lyrics. Beneath the music, he can hear his girl humming along, a word or two passing her lips as she mouths along to the melody. Bucky smiles to himself. Time to go see about a girl.

* * *

Another pinch of salt…maybe two pinches. She dips her pinkie into the spoon and takes a small taste of the sauce, tongue smacking as she examine the flavor. Definitely more garlic. She reaches for the pressed cloves on the cutting board, sprinkling them into the pan. The sauce sizzles and bubbles as she stirs, nearly ready to add the tortellini. She turns the burner down low and whirls around to the island, where the standing mixer has done most of the work on her brownies. A moment’s deliberation, and then she adds in the caramel bits she was saving, debating whether or not to toss them in the batter. She pops one of the morsels into her mouth, thinking “why not?”.

Her phone is propped up next to her bluetooth speaker, shuffling a fun new pop album, and she shimmies her hips as she steps back to the stove, reaching for the tortellini. The shower had shut off several minutes ago - surely Bucky would be ready to eat soon. Poor thing, he was always ravenous after missions, surviving on protein bars and takeout; his pitiful texts bemoaning his hunger and how much he missed her cooking always ensured a piping hot home cooked meal on his arrival. Tonight’s menu? Pasta and chocolate, a $7 wine chilling in the fridge; he always liked rich food, the heavy flavors so unlike the boiled and bland taste of his childhood. In the 21st century, he had abandoned the bare bones nutrition of his Depression kitchen in favor of a wide array of modern culinary miracles. She enables him a little, all too happy to see his eager, excited puppy eyes at the prospect of a new recipe; all too weak to his boyish pout at the grocery store when something brightly colored and full of sugar catches his eye.

“I _need_ this, babydoll - it’s got Steve’s picture on the front! I could win a chance to meet Captain America!”

“You see him every day!”

“Yeah, but the sweepstakes includes a cash prize, too! C’mon, honey, _please?_ ”

Yep. Total enabler.

The song changes from a slower track to a faster one, the album’s title song and catchy as all hell, she bobs her head along and dances back and forth in front of her pasta, now finished, just waiting for-

On cue, a pair of hands slide around to grip her hips mid-sway, a firm chest pressing up against her back.

“What’s cookin’, hot stuff?” His lips grinning against her ear, pressing a little kiss to the skin just beneath. Strong fingers give her hips an affectionate squeeze as he sways them a little in time with her music.

“Tortellini. With that homemade sauce you liked last time.” Tipping her head over her shoulder, she shares a light kiss with him, lips lifting in a sweet smile - the best ‘welcome home’ a man could ask for. When she tries to pull away he leans in, presses firmer, holding onto the kiss for just a few seconds longer.

“Well, ain’t you sweet,” he whispers, nudging her nose with his own. She hums.

“Not as sweet as the brownies I’m whipping up.” Her eyebrow tilts up in challenge; those brownies are his weakness - well, that and every other form that chocolate can come in. His sweet tooth is something else she consistently indulges, since he insists on pushing his super soldier metabolism to its absolute limit.

At the mention of brownies, his eyes perk up and he stands up straight, looking around at the kitchen counters for the promised treats. Their feet shuffle awkwardly as he turns without loosening his grip, dragging her with him and flicking drops of the coveted sauce across the floor and countertops from the spoon still in her hand.

“Buck! Hey! You’re making a mess,” she protests, reaching for a paper towel and trying to wiggle out of his grip. He catches sight of the brownie batter on the island and gasps, a little victorious “yes” escaping his lips as he reaches for it, finally releasing his hold on her. Freed for the moment, she takes the opportunity to wipe up the drips of sauce on the floor and tosses the paper towel in the trash.

When she turns back she catches him - lips smacking around the spoon in shameless approval, dimples appearing in his cheeks, eyes dancing with mischief as he meets her eyes over the spoon.

“Bucky!” she huffs. “I wasn’t done with that yet, they still have to go in the oven!”

He raises an eyebrow, a challenge, a dare, and inches the now-contaminated spoon back towards the batter.

“Oh, that’s okay, babe - I can just eat it with a spoon,” he smirks, seeing her fists tighten before she lunges for the bowl, grabbing with both hands and tucking it to her chest to save further batter from being stolen.

“That is _not_ the proper way to eat brownies and you _know_ it.” He’s taking her speech _very_ seriously, if the grin on his face is anything to go by. “You could get salmonella.”

“Worth it.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to the kitchen counter, where her pan is already waiting, already greased with Crisco - with a glance over her shoulder to find him still watching, leaning against the island with his arms crossed, she plucks a whisk from the jar of utensils and pours out the batter, scraping the sides and letting it all drizzle its way into the pan. It slides into the oven lightning quick, before he can make another attempt at it.

Whisk and bowl now on their way to the sink, and with a satisfied hum she glides a finger down the cage of the whisk and sticks it in her mouth. Releasing it with a pop, she smiles at him across the island.

“ _Mmm._ ” An exaggerated groan, and she can see the flush starting high on his cheekbones. “You’re right - it _is_ good enough to eat with a spoon.”

His steps are slow, measured, stalking, as he rounds the island, his tongue tracing his lower lip. Caught in his stare, she can’t bring herself to move - her heart starts picking up its pace, a rabbit’s excited _thumpthumpthump_ against her ribs, and she grips the counter behind her. Without leaving his eyes, she draws her hand up, deliberately slow, and scoops another helping of the batter onto her fingers. Biting her lip, secret smile pressed into her cheeks, her fingers creep back towards her mouth, when he suddenly intercepts. A strong metal grip wraps around her wrist and brings her hand back to his face, slipping her fingers into his own mouth and sucking them clean. Her stomach swoops at the feel of his tongue tracing her fingers, swirling over them in long, firm strokes.

She opens her mouth to say something, a pun, a flirty innuendo, but all that comes out is a muted gasp when his hips press her own further back against the kitchen counter. Wolfish, hungry, he’s smirking at her as he pulls her fingers from his mouth. Cool metal fingers grip the back of her neck and he hauls her into a filthy open-mouthed kiss, his tongue licking deep into her mouth, as if he could get a taste of the chocolate that remained there. He groans when she responds in kind, sucking lightly on his tongue and rolling her hips against his in a slow grind.

Keeping his metal grip in her hair, his other hand slides down her side, squeezing the soft flesh at her hips and tracing the skin just under the hem of her shirt, before fingering the button of her jeans. He hears her breath stutter when he squeezes her through her jeans, the firm pressure of his fingers and the rough seam of the denim sending a brief jolt down her legs at the friction. He smiles against her lips, still ravishing her mouth, tracing the line of her teeth with his tongue. Nimble fingers undo the button and zipper, before slipping his hand inside to rub her through her panties.

“Oh, honey,” he clicks his tongue. “You’re so _wet_ already - I ain’t even touched you yet.”

“Believe me, I know.” Her voice is never as firm as she wants it to be, her usual sass melting into breathy whines every time he touches her this way. A particularly firm press of his fingers over her clothed core has her hissing through her teeth, just the frustrated side of pathetic. “Buck - _please._ ”

His metal hand scratches the back of her skull, affectionate and comforting, as he nuzzles his nose against her cheek.

“You gonna let me lick the bowl, honey?” he asks, low and husky, and for some reason she’s still thinking about the brownies when she nods emphatically, totally willing to barter sweets for _everything_ his voice is promising. He grins against her skin, licking across her jaw and down to her neck…then removes his hand from her jeans to the tune of an offended whine. Her small, cold fingers grip his wrist, trying to keep him there as she pouts.

“ _Bucky_ ,” and she’s not even trying to control the way it sounds now, needy and breathless. Warm tongue tracing the shell of her ear, he huffs a little laugh and squeezes her hips.

“Don’t worry, baby, I gotcha.” He withdraws an inch or two, rearranges their embrace to get a better grip around her hips. “But you _said_ I could have a lick, so-” With no further warning, his palms each grasp a handful of her ass and hoist her up into his arms, her legs winding around his waist on instinct. Nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little red crescent shapes in the soft, freckled skin. His teeth nip at her neck between sweeps of his tongue, and she moans as he pays particular attention to her pulse point.

With a turn and a few steps, he’s back at the island, gently depositing her on the edge, his hands stroking up and down her sides. A few insistent tugs at the hem of her shirt, and she lifts her arms to let him peel the offending fabric away, tossed somewhere behind him. His hand is firm on her spine as he lays her back against the marble, the cool surface making her arch up against him. Soft lips press a final firm kiss against her collarbone as he pulls himself back, looking down at her - adoring eyes, wet lips - his hands making their way down to remove her jeans. A dark flush spreads across his chest as he pulls them down, his eyes finding the wet spot on her panties, and she feels her entire body heat up as his lust-blown eyes drink her in.

His metal hand grasps one of her ankles, lifting her leg to press a kiss there and working his way up, dragging his tongue against the sweet-smelling skin and taking his time on his way to the real prize. A little bite at her inner thigh, and a scratch of his fingernails, has her giggling and moaning at once. He leaves a kiss over her panties and moves to the other side, still savoring, still teasing, tracing his lips over the ticklish skin on the inside of her knee just to make her squirm. Sliding his hands along her legs, he massages her calves gently, knowing how sore she gets from being on her feet all day - he makes a mental note to give her a full-body massage soon. _That_ never fails to get them both going.

He licks up the arch of her foot and holds back a laugh when she huffs and tries to kick at him.

“Are you going to get back up here anytime soon?” she pouts, fingers tugging at his hair, just the way he likes. Just the way that makes him a little bit wild. Teeth sink into his lower lip as he looks at her under his lashes, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Oh just you wait, babydoll,” he promises with a low growl. “Gonna taste you till you’re _screaming_.”

Before she can respond, his fingers curl in the waistband of her panties and yank them down her legs, flinging them over his shoulder impatiently. Hands beneath her ass, he lifts her hips up, licks his lips, and dives in with a broad lick up her slit.

Shameless and eager and starving for his girl, Bucky buries his whole face between her thighs, his nose nudging her clit as he laves at her entrance, the tip of his tongue slipping inside to draw out more of her juices. From there he traces a path upwards, sucking on her lips and drawing warm, wet circles over her clit.

“Oh, god… _Bucky_ ,” she arches into him, the words trailing off into a moan when he wraps his lips around her bud and _sucks_.

With a final harsh squeeze of her ass, his hands curl up from under her hips, one tracing up to grasp her breast, the other twining his fingers with her own. She squeezes his hand and gasps, holding on for dear life as he plucks and tweaks her nipples in time to the strokes of his tongue against her heat.

He’s too good at this - he always has been, not that she’d _ever_ tell him and let his ego inflate that much larger. But Bucky Barnes eats pussy like he’s on a fucking mission; he’s groaning as he devours her cunt with his entire mouth, tracing his tongue up and down, side to side, nipping delicately at her folds with his teeth. She can barely keep her eyes open, but she can see the slick shining across his freshly-shaven cheeks, even on the tip of his nose, when he pauses to take a breath and fucking _winks_ at her before going back for more.

Her toes curl against his back, thighs tense and trembling with every swirl and suck of his wicked tongue; she feels his hand leave her breasts and moans in protest, before the digits reappear at her entrance, gathering wetness for a moment before slipping inside.

A whispered “ _fuck_ ” is all she can get out when his fingers scissor inside her, twisting back and forth, before curling upward and stroking firmly against her upper wall with the pad of his fingers. Never letting up with his tongue, the pattern against her clit constantly changing, she feels the heat pooling in her belly, hot and insistent and so, so close.

“Buck, I’m - _fuck,_ I’m so close,” she whines, and he smiles and nods against her, pulling another sweet moan from her lips. The tip of his tongue draws lines and swoops over her bud, a strange pattern almost like, like -

_B-_

Jesus Christ, he’s -

_U-_

He’s writing his fucking _name -_

She shudders at the letters “C” and “K” when he presses firmer with the flat of his tongue, cheeky bastard. By the time he’s started on his last name, her whole body is starting to shake, the room is impossibly hotter, her head feeling dizzy and light. Her nails dig into his scalp as she cries out his name again.

“Go ahead, go on, come for me, honey,” he coaxes, before giving her clit a harsh suck while pressing that secret spot inside her. It tumbles her over the edge, her hips rolling into his mouth and her back arching up from the counters, her pants and moans falling breathless and sweet in his ears. He works her through it, continuing to lick and stroke her folds, pulling away every so often to leave kisses on her thighs and nuzzle her hip. When she starts to push his head away he pulls out his fingers, watching the gush of wetness that follows.

He drapes himself back over her body, a hand on either side of her head, as she comes back to herself and opens her eyes. Blinking a few times, she smiles at him, sharing breathless little kisses as he smooths her hair back from her face.

“You’re a menace, Bucky Barnes,” she laughs, eyes and limbs feeling heavy and soft.

“Yeah but you already knew that, sweetheart.” He kisses the tip of her nose, her closed eyelids, her cheek. “And besides -,” without warning, he scoops her up in his arms and heads towards the bedroom, leaving their mess - and dinner - behind.

“You know I like to have my dessert _first_.”


End file.
